Indie Blu(e) Publishing is currently accepting submissions of poetry and art for This is What Love Looks Like. Poetry by Women Smitten with Women. This Anthology will celebrate love, attachments, and attraction between women.
The maximum number of pieces for submission per writer/artist is FIVE (5).
Writing can be uploaded as a Word or PDF attachment. If you are submitting a graphic poetry meme, the meme must be accompanied by the text in Word or PDF version.
Artwork submitted for the Anthology must be able to be reproduced clearly in black and white.
You will be notified if your work is accepted. Please do not consider non- acceptance as any diminishment of your experience, but as with any publishing venture, we must try to fit the individual pieces together into a strong whole.
Submission of previously published pieces is acceptable if you still own the rights to your work.
Submissions will be accepted through June 30, 2019 through Submittable. There is no charge for submission.
This is a project fueled by passion, not profit. Indie Blu(e) Publishing will only charge a few dollars above the publishing cost to keep the Anthology as affordable as possible.
All contributors will receive a PDF copy of the book.
Welcome to Sisters of Indigo Light, dedicated to the healing and empowerment of sexual harassment and sexual abuse survivors through creative expression and community.
Sisters of Indigo Light grew organically from the movement to publish ‘We Will Not Be Silenced.’ We believe there needs to be a permanent home for creativity born from our survival where we can learn, share, empower, and heal.
Dyslexia, into my thin membrane
to hear your wounding tales
Pervicacious drops of blood stick to my venom
I hear wars, tremors, haze into the folds of my skin,
like palpable beggar’s eye.
My white bed-sheet mark my body with cuts, acidic tears
Proliferating porous permanent scars
Hush, my words are twisting into my own stomach,
My thick mouth deteriorates again and again
Observe my skin, its expanding its dimensions
Changing seasons, changing colours
Squalid eyes pinch the glance, time pokes thorns on my tongue
Am I a myth, still being a reality?
Or I am the reality in your venal liquid baked body.